


A Lot Like 17

by Jmeelee



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Athena the Cat, Baseball, Boys Kissing, Childhood Trauma, Dancing, Dread Doctors - Freeform, Falling In Love, Growing Up, Healing, Kissing in the Rain, Leaving Beacon Hills, Liam Dunbar has a plan, M/M, Monster of the Week, Prom, Shopping, Skinny Dipping, Yule Cat, alpha in training, lookout point
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:54:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28449519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jmeelee/pseuds/Jmeelee
Summary: Liam’s heart aches. Why hasn’t he considered Theo’s upbringing? He’d focused on the crap Theo put them through, and when the older pack members left for college, Liam had been so absorbed in his new leadership role he’d never spared a thought for Theo’s troubled history.“We can’t fix everything, Liam,” Mason says. “You can’t fix everyone.”“Yeah, but we try.” His determination increases with each passing mile marker. “We don’t give up. That’s who we are.”Mason flips on the blinker. “We don’t give up when it’s someone innocent; when it’s someone alone. When it’s one of our friends.”Liam sits up, eyes on the route unfolding ahead. “Theo’s my friend.”There’s a belligerent hint of alpha command in his voice, but Mason doesn’t call him on it. He just laughs and asks, “Does Theo know that?”He will soon.
Relationships: Liam Dunbar/Theo Raeken
Comments: 64
Kudos: 177
Collections: Thiam Holiday Gift Exchange 2020





	1. Like for the first time in a long time, I am not afraid

**Author's Note:**

  * For [voices_in_my_head](https://archiveofourown.org/users/voices_in_my_head/gifts).



> Happy New Year Sofia! I hope 2021 brings you peace, joy, good health and great fic! I created this story based on your prompt: one that deals with Theo's fucked up childhood. Like, he makes some remark and Liam (and others, maybe) start to realize that they never really thought about how Theo's life with the DD was
> 
> This fic is complete at roughly 10K. I will post a chapter every few days.
> 
> Fic title and chapter titles inspired by _Brand New_ by Ben Rector, which I listened to approx. 14 million times while writing this.

Something has been bugging the shit out of Liam since the Jólakötturinn exploded out of existence, leaving behind enormous hairballs and the vague smell of a litter box in dire need of scooping.

“Some help here, guys?” Mason says from his spot seated on the concrete floor, using a brush to sweep mountain ash into a dustpan. Corey holds a glass jar steady as Mason empties the pan into the container. “I’d like to get home before the sun rises.”

The warehouse is temperature controlled, but a December chill creeps across the cement floor. Alec and Nolan linger over Alec’s cell phone in one corner of the open, well-lit room, snickering. An occasional high-pitched meow echoes from the speaker, bouncing off the metal industrial shelves lining the walls. Cat videos? If Liam never sees another feline, it will be too soon. “We’re busy decompressing,” Alec tells Mason. “Coping mechanisms are healthy. And besides, Liam and I can’t touch that stuff. Theo should clean it.” 

“Yeah,” Nolan echos. “Theo’s werewolf-lite. Or werecoyote-lite. Whichever.” 

“There’s nothing lightweight about these boxes, asswipes!” Theo calls from across the warehouse where he stacks toppled plastic-wrapped wooden pallets. The box contents jingle like Santa’s sleigh bells. “Make yourselves useful or I’ll throw a few at your worthless heads.” A fine sheen of sweat glistens on Theo’s brow under the flickering fluorescent lights. Large hairballs roll under his high top Converse sneakers like tumbleweeds. Liam shudders. 

Sensing Liam's stare on the back of his neck, Theo throws a menacing glance in Liam’s direction. Liam finds himself drowning in the unique blue of Theo’s eyes. They’re not the twinkling, merry color attributed to American’s less terrifying Christmas myth: Theo’s eyes are cold steel, an ocean during a storm. Did they contain this much fire and brimstone before his hellish imprisonment, Liam wonders.

“What’s your problem?” Liam replies to Theo’s question with furrowed brows. What _is_ his problem? Theo eye-rolls and turns away, hefting another upturned box. “I’m not actually threatening them. Do they look scared?”

_Oh_. Maybe that’s what’s bugging Liam? Alec, Nolan, Corey, and Mason have their backs to Theo, a subconscious sign of trust. It took Alec the shortest time to adjust to Theo since he’d missed the being-evil-going-to-hell-coming-back-a-little-less-evil drama. Corey took the longest because he’d experienced Theo’s ruthlessness first hand. But now Corey plucks cat fur out of mountain ash, not paying Theo an ounce of attention. Does his pack’s blind trust in a former enemy set off Liam’s second-rate alpha instincts?

Corey’s nose scrunches in distaste, and he flicks a strand away. “Ugh. That was a whisker.”

Theo rights the last box and sits on top of it, wiping the sweat off his face with grimy hands and drying them on the thighs of his jeans. Several days of dark scruff overtakes his jaw, surrounds his full lower lips and his crimped, slightly thinner top one. From the opposite corner, a strange guttural yowl that sounds like the words “my butthole” has Alec and Nolan howling with laughter. “I can’t believe you find cats humorous after what we saw tonight.” Theo grimaces. “And Nolan? Doesn’t your mom own a cat?”

“Hey!” Alec says, looking away from the phone and gracing the room with his undivided attention. “Leave Mr. Bigglesworth out of this.” Nolan’s mother took Alec in, appreciating another man in the house and the discount Alec’s cashier job at the food market got them on groceries. Having lived in pet-free apartments his whole life, Alec bonded with their Birman immediately. “What would you know about cats, anyway?”

“Ah, plenty. I used to own a cat. And if I still owned one, I’d seriously reconsider letting it sleep in my bed tonight.”

Nolan locks the phone screen and peers at Theo. “Wait. The Doctors kept a cat?”

“Don’t forget the Dread,” Alec says. “They’re not actual doctors.”

“They were,” Mason chimes in from the floor. “Well, we’re positive the Surgeon was. We found Marcel’s military records, and he served as a surgeon-major to a regiment during the Seven Years’ War. We’re reasonably confident about the Geneticist and the Pathologist, what with the experiments on fetuses during World War Two. Right, Corey?” 

Mason’s grotesque history lesson won’t sidetrack Nolan. “So, the Dread Doctors owned a cat? Please tell me they didn’t keep it in the green serum tank.”

“Der Sol-CAT!” Alec giggles when Nolan mimes throwing up.

Mason and Corey stop gathering up mountain ash and study Theo, awaiting his answer. Theo hops from his box seat, kicks away an old, stray wool sock on the floor, and strolls around the crate until it’s between him and the rest of the room. He leans his elbows against it, shoulders relaxed and face serene, a perfect picture of ease.

There’s none of the hissing and snarling Liam saw earlier. Puffed up body, bared teeth, arched back: absent, but Liam recognizes a cornered animal when he sees it. Nobody’s afraid of Theo anymore. But Theo’s still wary. Of what—who?— Liam isn’t sure.

If Scott were here, he’d have the answer. Well, more likely Stiles would know, but he’d tell Scott, and Liam would remain in the dark.

“Those psychopaths never owned a cat, idiot,” Theo scoffs. “I had one as a kid. Her long hair triggered my asthma, so we re-homed her.” His gaze softens at the edges, and the corners of Theo’s mouth twitch. “Athena. She was a calico. I gave her to a third grade classmate, but I can’t recall who.” Theo stares off the side for a beat, eyes unfocused, then shrugs. “Stiles would remember.” 

Stiles would also know why Theo’s quiet speech leaves Liam more unbalanced than ever.

Alec nudges Nolan. “Proper Doctors.”

Nolan smirks back at Alec. “Yeah, a bunch of miracle workers who cured Theo’s asthma!” And the two start howling again, Corey and Mason yelling for help cleaning so they can go home and sleep. Everyone misses Theo’s eyes and mouth tightening like a bottle cap, preventing any more secrets from spilling. Everyone but Liam.

A deep, audible breath leaves Theo’s lungs. He fixes his gaze on Liam, placid mask affixed to his features, but the hastily cobbled cracks are discernible now. Liam can’t unsee them. His controlled expression, his stillness, aren’t supernatural. They’re _unnatural_ ; one of the many things the Doctors got wrong in their quest to engineer the perfect host. “Need help with anything else?” Theo’s voice is deep and rich, but devoid of emotion.

Mason mumbles, “At least one of you could hold the damn dustpan.”

Liam sways from foot to foot. _I need help with everything_. “Ah, no. I think… We’ve got it from here.”

“Great.” Theo straightens, makes a show of arching his back, stretching out his limbs, and zipping his hoodie. “Until next time. And if next time features another giant, vicious child-eating monster cat, call someone else.” 

Then Theo retreats, but the uneasy feeling that Liam is missing _something_ lingers.

* * *

“That was weird back there, right?” Liam voices from the rear seat of Mason’s Camry as they re-enter the Beacon Hills city limit. His fingers pick at the seam in the upholstery. “You guys thought that was weird?” 

“In general?” Corey asks. “Yeah, sure. No one expects to see a Jólakötturinn outside Iceland. But in the scheme of supernatural shit in Beacon Hills? Not so weird.”

“No,” Liam says, exasperated. “Not the Yule Cat. I’m talking about Theo.” 

Mason meets Liam’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “You say jump; Theo grumbles but inevitably asks how high. It's been this way since Scott went off to college. What’s peculiar about tonight?”

“I don’t know! Something seems _off_. Like how no one fears him anymore, not even Nolan.”

“That’s good, right?” Mason asks. “Theo’s our ally. With Stiles, Lydia, Scott, and Malia out of town, we need help.”

“Yeah, it’s great.” Liam breaks eye contact to stare out the window at the passing trees. “The Jólakötturinn came to the warehouse when Theo was the bait, but not when we used Alec three nights ago. Why?”

Corey twists in his seat, observing him through the gap under the raised headrest. “Alec was always a long shot. The only reason we tried him first was because he’s the youngest pack member.”

“Yeah, and it failed. So why’d Theo work? He’s two years older than us!”

Mason and Corey exchange glances over the center console, their silence speaking volumes. “Stop that,” Liam hisses. “I hate when you guys do that.”

“It’s just…” Mason snags Liam’s eye again in the mirror. “We figured you understood why Theo worked.”

Liam throws up his hands in the confined space, wrist smacking against the headliner. “Theo was doing what he always does. Being the bait.”

Mason and Corey peek at each other, eyebrows moving in mute communication. Liam growls. “Well… There’s this… Theo’s a prime example—”

“We guessed Theo would work because of what Martin Teicher found,” Mason finishes for his boyfriend.

“Who’s Martin Teicher? Did we go to high school with him or something?”

“No, Liam,” Mason answers with a small smile. “He’s a professor at Harvard.”

Corey lights up like a Christmas Tree. “Teicher led a groundbreaking study a few years back that found the volumes of three important areas of the hippocampus shrink by over six percent in people exposed to maltreatment. Super fascinating. It’s one of the key translational neuroscience discoveries of the 20th century.” 

Liam blinks. “Huh?”

“Abuse hinders a survivors' brain development,” Mason translates, voice pitched low and melancholy; even with werewolf hearing, Liam struggles to discern the words over the hum of car tires. “In the legends, the Jólakötturinn targets children who haven’t received a new article of clothing. The Doctors stunted Theo’s emotional growth when they took him. When you asked him to be the bait, we thought you realized—”

“Theo didn’t have a childhood.” Guilty pressure roils in Liam’s belly.

“He had at least part of one. Stiles and Scott can attest to that,” Corey says, trying to lessen the blow. It doesn’t work. 

“And a calico cat named Athena.” Liam’s heart aches. Why hasn’t he previously considered Theo’s upbringing? He’d focused on the crap Theo put them through, and when the older pack members left for college, Liam had been so absorbed in his new leadership role he’d never spared a thought for Theo’s troubled history. 

“When a Yule Cat showed up in California, we predicted the customs of our culture would be followed.” Corey unbuckles his seat belt as they pull up in front of his dark-windowed house. Mason cuts the engine and the headlights. Corey’s parents mostly ignore their son’s existence, but there’s no point inviting attention, especially when they reek of cat pee. “In our state you’re considered a child up through the age of seventeen.”

“Theo never got to be a teenager, and has no family to give him gifts. So, in conclusion, the perfect target for the Jólakötturinn,” Mason finishes. 

Liam moans, collapsing across Mason’s back seat like a fainting Victorian maid. “I’m a terrible alpha.”

_“You’re not,_ ” Mason and Corey insist in unison. 

“And technically,” Mason continues, “since Theo’s not part of the pack, you’re not his alpha.”

_Should he be?_ Liam asks himself as Mason kisses Corey goodnight. Scott left Liam in charge. Did his temporary leadership role extend to inviting Theo into their pack, with or without Scott’s approval? What if Theo doesn’t want to join? What if he wants—needs—something else? _What if what if what if?_

“I recognize that face.” Mason pulls away from the curb. 

“You can’t even see me back here.”

“I don’t need to see you; I know you like the back of my hand. We can’t fix everything, Liam. _You_ can’t fix everyone. Scott told you that before he left for college.”

“Yeah, but we try.” His determination increases with each passing mile marker. “We don’t give up. That’s who we are.”

Mason flips on the blinker. “We don’t give up when it’s someone innocent; when it’s someone alone. When it’s one of our friends.”

Liam sits up, eyes on the route unfolding ahead. “Theo’s my friend.”

There’s a belligerent hint of alpha command in his voice, but Mason doesn’t call him on it. He just laughs and asks, “Does Theo know that?” 

_He will soon._


	2. Like new sunglasses, like a brand new pair of jeans

Tonight, the air smells like spring. According to the calendar, it’s still a few weeks away, but Liam sucks in a fragrant breath as soon as his feet hit the painted blacktop. Hints of the turning season sprout around him, hardy dandelions and tender blades of light-green grass pushing through the cracks in the store-front sidewalk. To the west, beyond the guardrail, the sun melts into the horizon, firing liquid gold into brush-stroke clouds. Liam checks his watch face: 5:40 pm. Sunlight lasts longer, the rays turn warmer. Better, brighter days approach. He tips his chin up to dwindling light, unable to contain an excited smile. 

A big blue Tundra whips into the parking spot next to Liam’s old Bronco, cuts its headlights, and kills the engine. Theo tumbles out of the cab, scything the lot with shrewd eyes. He throws a mistrustful glare at the entrance-way under the buzzing Macy’s sign, like he’d prefer to yeet himself into the burning ball of gas in the sky, then walk into a retail store. “You need my help at the mall?” 

A fickle breeze scoops in and toys with a few strands of Theo’s hair before dispersing. He’s wearing the chestnut locks longer than the last time Liam saw him, but cut tight to his ears. _Does he trim it himself,_ Liam ponders, _or does he have a barber?_

Aside from their vehicles, two others litter the lot, each on opposite sides of the car-park like middle school students at a dance. A mother buckles her toddler into the backseat of a minivan a few spaces over and fiddles with a collapsible stroller she hauls to her trunk.

Liam hasn’t figured past this point—getting Theo to a store. “Uh. So, here’s the deal. I thought we could—”

“Nope.” Theo opens his truck door and climbs inside. 

“Wait!” Liam launches himself over the waxed hood. “Go in and let me buy you something!” He screams through the windshield. The minivan mom flashes Liam the stink eye. 

Theo shakes his head, two quick impatient jerks. He jabs the button on the switch panel and lowers the driver's side window. “We got rid of the Jólakötturinn over a month ago, Liam. Everyone’s safe and I’m capable of buying myself clothes. Let me go home and eat my dinner.”

“No. You don’t get it. I’ve been _thinking_.”

Theo palms his face. “Never a good thing.”

“Don’t be a dick, Theo. I’m trying to do something nice.” Liam’s temper flares, his gums itch, his eyes flash. He presses his nose to the barrier separating them.

“I don’t need nice.” Theo takes his hand away from his glowering face and stabs a finger at Liam through the windshield. “I need you to get your ass off the hood of my truck.”

“Get out of the car, Theo!” The new mother has gotten into her minivan, trying to look like she’s checking her email while she records them on her iPhone. “Now! Before we end up on YouTube!”

Theo glances at the van, sighs in defeat, and exits his truck. _Victory_.

Liam scrambles off the hood and wraps his fingers around Theo’s wrist, locking them tight and dragging him toward the automatic glass doors. “Liam,” Theo hisses, “you’re holding my hand!”

“I’m not.” 

“Close enough,” he says, but doesn’t pull away as Liam drags him down vinyl-floored aisles lined with faceless mannequins and fake potted plants. They blow past the escalators and water fountain. Past the shoes and lingerie department with lacy red and pink underwear sets prominently displayed. Liam stops in the Juniors clothing section. They’ve entered an alternate universe where everything glows neon. Pop music blares from overhead speakers, drowning out the crinkling of printing receipts. 

“Yeaaaaah, you know I won’t fit into anything here, right? Let’s head to the men’s section,” Theo says while Liam digs one handed through the only garment rack full of guy’s jeans. 

“No men’s section. We need something youthful.” He pulls out a pair of skinny, distressed, light wash jeans with rolled cuffs. “These!”

Theo's eyes widen. “My thighs will never fit. And how dare you imply I dress like an old man?”

Liam ignores him, checks the tag fastened to the waistband. “They say ‘built in flex’.” He holds them up to Theo’s groin.

Theo yanks his wrist away from Liam and snatches the outstretched pants. He stalks toward the fitting rooms along the back wall, separated from the rest of the department by a glorified shower curtain decorated in polka dots and fairy lights. “If I split the seam, you’re paying for them.” 

“I’m paying, anyway! That’s the whole point!” Liam trots along behind Theo, snagging a fitted black dress shirt and a camo bomber jacket off a passing clothes rod. 

He locks himself in a dressing room, leaving Liam to haunt the entryway. The enclosed space smells like its trapped the entire perfume counter. Liam’s nose twitches. Several angry, laborious noises and sliding metal hangers later, Theo throws open the dressing room door and struts out, coming to stand before Liam. He folds his hands at his hips, let’s Liam take in the ensemble. “You’re not terrible at picking out clothes.”

Liam’s throat goes dry. The jeans… well… Liam suspects no other guy could do for denim what Theo does. Tight is an understatement. Theo brushes past him to stand in front of the lighted, full-length three-way mirror. He shrugs the camo jacket over the dress shirt, his flexing shoulders stretching the black fabric in a way Liam imagines the minivan mom from the parking lot would appreciate. “Are the uh”—Liam coughs—“are you sure the pants aren’t too small?”

“Nah,” Theo replies, shooting Liam an impish grin through the mirror. “They have _built in flex._ ” Theo pops a squat right there in the dressing room. The carpeted floor shifts beneath Liam’s sneakers. “Now tell me,” Theo says, standing up and turning to face him, “why you dragged me here and dressed me up like Fashionista Ken.”

Liam swallows. “After the Yule Cat incident, I thought about how and why you, well, don’t have anyone.”

“Oh, god, I knew it.” Theo fidgets with the zipper on the camo jacket. “You’re having an alpha-brain-fart and decided you need to take care of me. Did Scott put you up to this?”

“This has nothing to do with Scott, or being an alpha. For so long you haven’t been—”

“Decent?” Theo’s lips pull back from his teeth, his nostrils flare. Liam mourns the playful smirk. “A good person? Someone worth keeping around unless I’m the bait?”

“Normal!” Liam snaps, stepping over the fitting room threshold and letting the curtain swing closed behind him. He backs Theo into the bay created by the three-way mirror and slams his fist into the glass beside Theo’s head. Theo’s cracked expression and Liam’s frustrated face appear back lit and infinite, ready to shatter. “I’m saying, you missed out on being a normal teenager.”

Theo wets his lips, eyes fixed on Liam’s face. “So you want to normalize me by buying me a new outfit?” He’s so clever. Why can’t he comprehend what Liam’s trying to say, with and without words?

“I don’t think you dress like an old man. I think you probably have an outfit for every imaginable occasion hanging in your closet.” _And a calculating smile to match._ “Whatever the situation requires: unassuming, inviting, rich, poor.” Theo’s shoulders curl tighter with each word Liam utters. “I bet every article of clothing you picked out after the age of nine had an ulterior motive attached to it like a price tag.”

_The cost was too high._ Liam can’t say the words. Theo can’t recognize them.

Unexpected weightlessness balloons in his chest. He’s acutely aware of how close they’re standing, how they’d appear to anyone who ventured into the fitting room. Liam steps back, the extra space letting the tightness in his throat abate. He tries again. “Every September my mom took me to get new clothes for school. As a kid, shopping bored me. When I got older, I appreciated the way those new clothes made me feel like I could be anyone I wanted that year, like I could _reinvent_ myself. I want you to have that chance, too. To feel,”—he shrugs—“brand new.”

Theo remains silent for a few long moments, fingers rubbing at the spot on his wrist Liam held earlier. Under the skin of his jaw, muscles dance, clenching teeth pulling at them like marionette strings. “And if I don’t want to reinvent myself?”

Mason said as much when Liam told him his hair-brained idea. “Then you’re just Theo, but in a fresh pair of jeans.”

Theo rolls his eyes, but he pops a claw and cuts the tags from the shirt, jacket and pants. He grabs his belongings off the bench in the dressing room and heads toward the curtain. 

He looks back at Liam, mouth opening and closing before his face softens. A charming smile tempers his features. “Come on, sugar daddy.” It takes several seconds to recover from the karate-chop impact of the words spoken in Theo’s distinctive deep husky catch.

Blood scorches a hot path of red on its way to Liam’s face. “So many things are wrong with that statement.” 

At the register, Liam pulls a pair of sunglasses off a hanging organizer: see-through plastic frames, rose-tinted lenses. They’re ridiculous; they’re perfect. They’ll bring out the blue in Theo’s eyes. “These, too,” he tells the cashier. 

For months, every time he sees Theo in the daylight, he’s wearing the new sunglasses.


	3. Like anything can happen, laughing, you take me right back to when we were kids

Theo eyes the baseball diamond, illuminated by Beacon Hill’s subpar version of LED stadium lighting. “You could tell me the truth, instead of bullshitting me and claiming there’s a problem.”

“If I told you the truth,” Liam replies, popping the hatchback on his Bronco, “you might not show up.” He hauls out two metal baseball bats, two mitts, and a pack of fluorescent yellow baseballs. 

Theo shrugs but doesn’t deny Liam’s claim. He grabs one of the proffered bats, flips it in his grip a few times, testing the weight. He steps back, takes a practice swing. The bat slices the air like a knife through butter. “Damn. There’s kevlar in this sucker. Wait.” Recognition dawns. “Stiles gave this bat to Mason when he left for college.” 

“Yup.” Liam leans his own bat against his shoulder, balls cradled in the crook of his arm like babies. Theo grabs the two mitts and trails Liam toward the field like a lost puppy. 

Past the fence line, bare spring branches reach for the clouds like overeager zealots, but the moonlit puffs move along on a brisk, jasmine-scented breeze. Every so often, an owl hoots, trying to frighten prey out of the thicket. “If Stiles knew I had it, he’d have a shit-fit.” 

“He’s fine with it.” It’s not the whole truth. Stiles gave Liam his blessing via a text message that threatened:  _ if theo breaks or steals my bat i will stab ur hairy ass. _ He’d sprinkled the words with seventeen knife emojis. 

“It’s just… us?” They step up to the pitching mound, Theo’s eyes gunmetal gray in the washed-out light. They flit around the field and survey the tree line.

Liam straightens his arm, lets the baseballs fall to the ground where they roll down the slight incline, and spill out of the mesh bag. He lays his bat in the soil beside the pitcher’s rubber and snatches one mitt from Theo, slips it on, punching the leather covering his palm, warming it up. The softened glove releases a whiff of tanner’s oil that tickles Liam’s supernatural nose. “Yup. Who did you expect?”

Theo glares. “Elves. You said elves infested the town park.” He points back to his truck. “I stopped at the grocery store and bought salt.”

“You didn’t have salt at your apartment?”

“Not an entire canister!”

“Great news.” Liam makes jazz hands. “You can refill your shaker.” 

Malia showed up at Theo’s new apartment—sublet by Derek—a year ago with matching brown coyote salt and pepper shakers. The coyotes lifted their glass heads, howling at the moon. Someone painted aqua bandanas around their necks. “I found these at an estate sale,” Malia told him. “They’re ugly. They remind me of you.” She set them on the kitchen counter and left. As far as truces went, Liam had seen stranger. 

Theo stomps over to home base, puffs of sandy dust kicked up by his heels. “Spill it, Dunbar. Why baseball?” Theo assumes a batting stance in the middle of the box, muscles coiled tight as springs. He leans back on his right leg, hip cocked and knees bent, the toe of his left shoe digging into the clay. Shoulders drop; hands choke up the bat. He stares a challenge straight down the line as Liam lets loose the first pitch. Theo swings hard, connects. A yellow blur drives toward first base. 

Liam comes clean. “I remembered the guys talking about how you all played Little League together.” He throws another pitch—a fastball—and Theo connects again, the ball slicing through the gap between second and third base. Liam stretches for it, tries to wrap the old leather of his glove around it as it comes in hot, but even his werewolf reflexes aren’t quick enough. The next hit powers to deep left field, hissing like the wind as it rolls through the too-long spring turf. 

“Play is a bit of an overstatement,” Theo says, shaking out his arm. He swats at a whining mosquito that lands on his neck, and warm copper attacks Liam’s nose, the scent of Theo’s blood so cloying Liam tastes it in the back of his throat. “Between mine and Scott’s asthma, and Stiles’ inability to focus, we mostly warmed the bench. They doubled us up in the outfield, sticking us by the fence. We picked dandelions.” He twirls the bat with a careless flick of his wrist, shifts from foot to foot, then resumes the position. 

Liam watches, memorized by the transferring of strength and momentum in Theo’s body. His hips and legs turn first, then his torso, shoulders, arms, and wrists, generating a powerful whip action that sends the ball soaring over the fence. Shoulders back, chin raised, lips cocked in a lazy smirk, Theo watches it go. Liam watches Theo.

“I’d say you’ve improved.” 

Theo turns his attention back toward Liam, the tip of Stiles’ bat dropping into the dirt. “Are you trying to feed me some kind of ‘grass is greener on the other side of the fence’ bullshit?” He gestures with his free hand at the lights, the bases, Liam. “Did you think bringing me here would take me back to when I was a kid? Because I hate to tell you, but that kid doesn’t exist anymore, Liam. It’s a nice thought, but he’s not coming back, no matter how many balls you throw, or how many new outfits you dress him up in.”

_ He may not have asthma anymore, but he got his heart ripped out of his chest.  _ Evolving imperfections. Theo’s been in a league of his own for so long he won’t give Liam a chance at bat.

Liam proceeds with caution. “No offense, but sounds like that kid kinda sucked at baseball.” Theo’s head cocks to the side, a furrow between his eyebrows. His mouth parts on an astonished breath, deepening the little divot between his nose and upper lip, the spot Liam will never admit he wants to kiss. “And I think the grass is greener where you water it.”

Theo shakes his head, a small smile poised and ready to steal home. He raises the bat again. Liam throws another, and another, watches how the growing looseness of Theo’s shoulders directs the ball. 

_ Crack _ .  _ Crack. Crack. _

“The grass is greener where you water it,” Theo repeats later when they break to gather the errant balls in the outfield. Liam rests his forearms on the rail, let’s his eyes go gold as he watches a rabbit scurry into the brush at the edge of the trees. Theo leans back against the fence surrounding the field, so close to Liam their shoulders brush, cold metal groaning under their combined weight. “Sounds like you want to see me in a wet t-shirt.”

The words fan a flame banked under Liam’s skin, coaxing it to the surface, giving it room to breathe, to grow. “Been there, done that. It’s like you and Derek compete to see who destroys the most shirts when we’re in a fight.”  _ You’d welcome the sight again, _ a secret voice whispers inside Liam’s head. The words come hot and fast, without the usual censoring delay. It makes Liam think they might be the truth, or as close to it as he can stand. 

Theo stares down at the bag of balls at their feet. “I meant it, Liam. The kid who played Little League with Scott and Stiles is dead, has been for a long time. I… I don’t want you to get your hopes up about me, or think there’s something any of you can do to turn me back into the kid I once was. Because if that’s your goal…” He trails off, keeps his chin dipped low but looks over at Liam, sole-eyed in the shadows. The move brings their faces a hair's-breadth away, let’s them breathe the same air.

Liam sees him then, the ghost of a little boy whose biggest problem was remembering his inhaler and picking flowers in the outfield. He peeks out of Theo’s handsome face, his down-turned chin. A little boy who disappeared wrangling the wild beast of his life with the Dread Doctors 

“I never met that Theo,” Liam pitches the words low. “I don’t give a shit if he comes back or not, to be honest.” It’s blunt; to someone else, it might be hurtful, but it’s the truth.

Theo nods, eyes traveling Liam’s face like he’s running the bases, sliding home on his parted lips. “Okay. Then what  _ do _ you want?’

A loaded question. He’s not ready to answer.

Liam pushes off the fence with a metallic rattle. The noise startles the owl from its treetop perch, and it launches into the night without its meal. “I want to see if you can get one past me.” He picks up the balls at their feet, shoves them into Theo’s chest. His smile is deliberately baiting. “Do you think you’re up for it?”

Theo laughs. “I  _ know _ I am.” His voice is gravel.  _ Sexy _ . The word pops in Liam’s mind like a champagne bubble, intoxicating and dangerous. 

“Then prove it,” Liam taunts, walking backwards toward home plate, grinning. 

Theo does. 


	4. Like when I close my eyes, and don’t even care if anyone sees me dancing

The bedroom window squeaks open, and a jean-clad leg pops through as Liam finishes setting up his playlist. “Why are you coming through my window? I unlocked the front door.”

An arm follows the leg, a torso, a brunette head. “You’re wearing a tuxedo.” Theo’s eyes bulge as he straddles the sill. “Are you chaperoning Alex’s prom?”

“Alex went to prom last week,” Liam reminds him. He pushes the balls of his feet hard into his dress shoes, rooting himself like a tree as Theo runs shocked blue eyes up and down his body. “Don’t you remember the drama about him taking some girl as his date and pissing off Nolan?”

Theo swings himself into the room, sneakers hitting the rug with a deadened thump. “Why would Nol— Wait! _Nolan_ and _Alex_?” He barks out a laugh, head sweeping back and forth in disbelief.

“Aren’t you the perceptive one?” Liam snipes. “The guy who knows everybody’s secrets?” Speaking of perceptive… Liam cocks his head. There’s something peculiar about Theo tonight. It’s not his clothes—black pants, light maroon hoodie, white cotton undershirt. It’s not his hair, or his crooked smirk. _Great_ , Liam thinks, _here we go again_. Like the night in the warehouse with the Yule Cat, he chases a vital yet elusive piece of evidence.

Smug superiority radiates from Theo’s face. “Only when the secrets are useful to me. Nolan boning Alex on the down low? Not useful.”

“Oh god, please stop saying boning. They’re not.…” Liam swats the term away like an annoying gnat. “…Doing that.”

“Okay, _Grandma_. Whatever helps you fall asleep at night.”

He’s missing Mason and Corey to clue him in, so Liam goes straight to the source. “Did you change something? You seem… different.”

“Oh, that’s rich, Liam. You’re dressed like James Bond, and you’re telling me _I_ look different.” Theo’s eyes slide over him again, soft as silk. “If you’re not chaperoning, why did you dress like that? Did someone die?”

“You might die if you don’t shut up and let me explain.” Liam walks over to his bedroom door and flips the light switch, casting the room into darkness except for the blue glow of his laptop screen. Back at his desk, he opens a drawer and pulls out a mini disco ball, flipping it upside down. The power toggles on and it whirls, emitting blue, yellow, green and red lights as it spins on its base. Liam plops it on his desk, next to his laptop and the pile of transfer applications and petitions of credit he needs to submit, and presses a key on the keyboard. A soft, steady beat floats through the speakers. “Theo, will you go to prom with me?”

“No.”

“Well, too bad for you,” Liam says, grabbing a wooden hanger off his desk chair. “I got you a suit, too. You’re going to prom.” He holds up a gray jacket and slacks, uses them to gesture around his room.

“That’s your father’s suit.” A sharp chin thrust. “He wore it to the hospital fundraising dinner last year.”

“And my mom had it dry cleaned. You’d never know the tomato sauce stain was there.” He wiggles it in Theo’s direction. 

“No.” Theo plants the word like a flag.

“Come on. Four dances? That’s only a fraction of how many songs they’d play at an actual prom. We’re in my bedroom. No one will see you.”

“I don’t care if anyone sees me dancing.”

“Cool. So, four dances?”

“One.” A battle of wills plays out between their eyes.

Liam squares his shoulders. “Three.”

Theo makes a rough noise in his throat. “Two.” He holds up his fingers like a peace sign. “Final answer. And I’m _not_ putting on your step-dad’s shoes.” 

“Deal.”

Theo comes back from the bathroom wearing a white t-shirt under Dr. Geyer’s gray woven wool notch lapel two-button suit jacket. His forearms exposed by pushed-up sleeves, a dusting of fine, dark hairs travel from his wrist to elbow. The matching gray flat front pants hang a few inches too long; he’s rolled them up to sit atop his white trainers. God, Theo looks good enough to eat. There’s a hint of stubble playing at the line of his jaw, and the stiletto-sharp creases of the pants look obscene running down his thighs.

Theo has a body made for wearing suits, unlike Liam, who resembles a kid playing dress up. He resists the urge to tug at his black tie. “My dad should have brought you to the fundraiser. Rich women would have thrown their money at you.”

Theo’s eyebrows knit together. “Thank you? I think.”

Liam boots up the prom playlist on Spotify. A pop song with a catchy beat filters out into the dimly lit room. “Show me your moves, Raeken,” he challenges.

The disco lights paint Theo’s smirk rainbow-bright. “The real moves come out when Beyonce comes on.”

“Oh. I’ll make that happen.”

It’s missing so many staples of a typical prom: kitschy decor, confetti littering the floor, high heels on tiled floors, people shouting over the DJ, the dying-flower odor of corsages and boutonnieres. But halfway through the second song, Liam discards his tux jacket on his narrow unmade bed and pops his top two dress shirt-buttons. Sweat trickles from his sideburns.

“Do you moonlight as a stripper?” Liam jokes. “Because I’m pretty sure you just dropped it like it’s hot.” The quip may have been in poor taste, he realizes too late, but Theo doesn’t seem to mind. He throws his head back, eyes squeezed shut, laughing with abandon. The smile is a lightning flash: bright, unexpected, dazzling. It stuns Liam with its intensity, its genuine warmth, the way it makes electricity sizzle along Liam’s spine.

“All right,” Theo concedes when Beyonce belts out her last note. They’re both doubled over, laughing at each other’s horrendous interpretations of the _Single Ladies_ dance. “One more song.”

One turns into two, two into three, and they’re six songs deep before the playlist shuffles to a slow jam. A soft, haunting piano ballad, base line stuttering like a heartbeat. Liam wipes his brow. He’s about to suggest a water break when Theo’s hands steal around his hips, pulling Liam in. “I hope this is all right,” he says, one hand sliding to the small of Liam’s back, fingers grasping the sweat-damp cotton. The fabric pulls loose from Liam’s dress pants.

Liam wraps his arms around Theo’s neck. “It’s perfect,” Liam answers, hoping Theo doesn’t notice how his voice stretches to the breaking point. “I mean, you can’t have prom without a slow dance.” Their dance, though, isn’t much more than swaying hips and shuffling feet.

Theo watches the wall, the disco ball, Liam’s screen saver. “I wouldn’t know. I never had one.”

_Oh._ It hits him over the head like a frying pan as he watches Theo searches for invisible threats to his display of vulnerability, for a place to hide. _A safe space._ The investigation—integral to Theo, as intrinsic as a pulse—was absent when he entered Liam’s room tonight. A sign of trust. 

“Yeah.” Liam packs as much meaning as he can into the next two words; everything he wants Theo to have, everything he wants to give him. “I _know_.” 

Theo looks at Liam, eyes searching his face. Liam pinpoints the exact moment it sinks in. Theo drops his head onto Liam’s shoulder, letting his head loll until his nose presses into the crease of Liam’s neck and shoulder, sucking in deep, ragged breaths. He slips a hand into Theo’s dark hair, wrist brushing the shell of Theo’s ear before he fits his palm to the back of Theo’s skull, holding him in place. Liam lets his neck go lax, tilting to the side, giving Theo access to his tendons, his jugular. Theo responds by scraping his nose, his sandpaper-rough chin and cheek against the paper-thin skin. He’s shocked; he’s thrilled. Theo almost never exhibits instinctual wolf-like pack behavior, claiming a Chimera doesn’t need it.

_Liar, liar, borrowed dress pants on fire._ Liam struggles to keep the corners of his lips in a firm line.

They sway and turn to the slow, steady beat of the song, Theo’s chest buzzing against Liam’s as he hum along. Every thud of Theo’s heart rapping against his own. _This is right,_ something whispers inside Liam’s head. _Good._

He doesn’t stop scenting Liam until the song fades out. One hand moves to Liam’s elbow, and only then does Theo raise his head, pulling away just enough to bump their foreheads together. Their eyes connect—Theo’s blissed-out from the scent marking, Liam’s lidded—before Theo’s gaze drops to Liam’s lips. His head moves a fraction closer, their noses brushing like Eskimos in the tundra, and Liam freezes, his own eyes moving from Theo’s blacked-out pupils to his mouth. Theo’s lips part, his tongue swipes out to wet them. They’re too close, arms still wrapped around each other, Theo clutching the back of Liam’s shirt like a lifeline. Heavy, broken breaths and the whirl of the disco ball are deafening in the seconds of silence between songs. Liam leans in, his body moving without his mind’s consent. _Instinct_. The hand gripping his shirt smooths out into the barest caress of his lower back. Then, without warning, Theo’s hands drop away. 

He steps back, Liam catching himself in time to avoid falling forward into Theo’s broad chest. Theo’s fixed gaze melts away, as hard to hold as water. “Punch.” He throws the word like an accusation.

“Huh? Why do you want to punch me?” Liam’s brain is as slow and thick as molasses. Any blood not painting his face the color of a sunset has migrated to his groin. “We’re getting along so well.”

Theo blinks. “No. The drink in the gigantic bowl.” He mimes a wide semi-circle, creating more room between their over-heated bodies with the gesture. “In the movies, the kids at prom try to spike the punch. I always wondered what it tasted like.”

“What prom movie have you seen?” Liam’s not sure which weirds him out more: imagining a TV in the Dread Doctor’s lair, or imagining Theo home alone in his early twenties watching prom movies. “Please don’t say High School Musical.”

Theo clears his throat, swallows. “Pretty in Pink.” He crosses one arm, clasping his elbow, covering his heart. “Tara loved it. She watched it on repeat every weekend, even though our parents said she was too young.” 

“Wow. Everything makes sense, now.” Liam’s tone is rich with understanding, despite his playful words. “You’re such an Andie.”

Theo rolls his eyes, but lets out a ragged exhale. “Can we make some punch, or not?”

Liam clasps him on the shoulder. “I think my mom has rainbow sherbet left over from a baby shower she hosted a few months ago. Let’s raid my freezer, change into sweats, then I have to make you watch the quintessential prom movie.”

“What’s that?”

“ _Carrie_.”

Their prom punch comprises half a tub of sherbet, a room-temperature bottle of ginger ale, and a dusty tin of pineapple juice unearthed from the back of the pantry. Theo pierces the aluminum top with his claw when Liam can’t find a can opener. They knock over the bowl when Carrie gets doused with pig’s blood, and the pink stain refuses to come out of the tan carpet, no matter how much Liam scrubs. Liam’s mom gripes at him for two weeks, and he has to rearrange his bedroom furniture to cover the spot. 

It’s worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone wondering, their slow song is Evermore by Taylor Swift, because that song f*cks me up with Theo feels.


	5. Like I can fly, and don’t even think of touching the ground

“Explain to me again why this requires nudity.” Theo’s hands hover at the salmon-colored elastic waistband of his black and white stripped boxer-briefs. 

“It’s a rite of passage.” Liam’s gray tank top goes sailing, snagging on a low-hanging branch. “Senior night!” He slips off his shoes, stooping to roll up his socks and shove them inside the toe box. “Everyone climbs the tree and rides the rope swing into the reservoir.” Liam points to a tree that rivals the Nemeton in age, gnarled branches embracing the summer sky.

“Yes, but why _naked_?” Theo asks, words slow and spaced apart like he’s addressing a small child, or Stiles. “Seems like a sure-fire way to get rope burn in delicate places.”

“It’s called skinny dipping.” Off come Liam’s nylon basketball shorts. “I have no idea why everybody does it naked”—Theo chuckles—“but they do. It’s tradition.” Liam’s boxers fall to the sandy shore of the watershed. A strangled choke cuts off Theo’s laugh. 

Liam strides over to the fat Sycamore tree on the edge of the water, knobby with burls, and pitches himself up onto a sturdy branch. The loamy scent of soil gives way to clean, crisp air as he scales forty feet quick as a monkey. He braces a palm against the peeling brown bark, stretching for the braided nylon cord hanging over the water. Fraying fibers prickle his palm. Liam leans back, testing his weight against the strength of the taut rope, then pushes up through his heels. 

Feet lift. Knees tuck. The water comes at him quick as he dives, then soars, a human pendulum. He lets go, velocity and gravity taking hold. _He’s flying._

“Whoooooooooooooooo!” Liam’s victory yell reverberates through the forest. He hits the water with a cannon ball crash, ripples cascading out from his point of impact. He tears to the surface, whooping, pushing strands of hair out of his eyes to find Theo loitering among the exposed tree roots, still clad in his underpants. “The water’s freezing! Your balls will end up in your throat!” 

“You’re really selling this whole thing, Liam,” Theo snarks, but he squats, muscular thighs braced, then jumps, fingers curving around a limb. He swings his legs, performs an impressive glide kip to mount the branch. A squirrel watches Theo ascend the ancient sycamore, chattering at him for entering its territory. A flash of gold sends it scampering away.

“You’re still wearing clothes!” Liam shouts, palms cupped around his mouth, letting his legs tread water. “It doesn’t count if you wear clothes.”

“Liam, no one is keeping score!”

“I knew you were a Chimera, Theo, but I didn’t know you were part chicken!”

When Theo reaches the rope, he shimmies out of his boxer-briefs, letting them tumble into the tangled roots. Liam wolf-whistles and Theo flips him the bird with his free hand.

“Jump! Jump! Jump!” 

Theo jumps. 

The rope arcs, flinging Theo through the sky. For a moment he’s suspended, then he’s free-falling, gliding into the water with the grace of an Olympic diver. “Show off,” Liam says when Theo’s head breaks the surface, grin as sharp as a knife.

“That. Was. Outstanding!” Theo exclaims, eyes wild with adrenaline and freedom. “For a second it felt like I’d never touch the ground.” 

“I told you. There’s a method to my madness.”

“For a long time, I hated the thought of water,” Theo says, words bursting out in a rush as he blinks water droplets from his inky eyelashes. “Even taking a bath or a shower, it made me think of—” His teeth snap together with an audible click.

_Oh no,_ Liam thinks, panicking. A war drum pulse beats between his ears. _Every time I try to do something good it backfires. I’m lousy at this. I’m a terrible—_

“Liam, stop.”

Liam runs a wet hand over his face, trying to iron out the wrinkle between his brows.

“Whatever you’re thinking… stop.” Water swirls around Liam’s thighs as Theo pushes himself a few feet away, lifting his legs and spreading his arms so he’s floating on his back in the bleached sunlight. The position exposes him: throat, chest, belly, cock. Twenty acres of water surround Liam, but his throat is as dry as a desert. Stripped of traces of cologne and detergent, Theo’s wet skin carries the musky scent of earth, of Liam’s sweat, of fresh-cut grass. He smells like victory on the lacrosse field, and Liam’s heart soars once more, but he welcomes it this time.

“For a while, the Doctor’s allowed it,” Theo continues, eyes closed, “dressing me in rags and sticking me on street corners, using me to pull in unsuspecting people with my unwashed, homeless kid guise. It worked on adults, but not on kids and teenagers, so they rolled in this steel tub, filled it with water, and threw me in, clothes and all.”

In the distance a pack of coyotes yip as they forage for food, their terrifying chorus of deranged giggles raising goosebumps on Liam’s sun-warmed skin. “The Pathologist held me down at first, but after I stopped screaming and trashing, I loved it,” Theo says. “To be weightless, free. In the water, my mind was quiet.” He laughs, a sad little puff of air swallowed by the endless blue sky. “They had trouble keeping me out, after that.”

Liam’s hands slice into the water, bringing him closer to Theo’s side. “Maybe that’s why the seniors do the rope swing,” Liam whispers, “to taste freedom before real-life sinks its claws into them.”

Theo turns his head, body dipping below the surface when he breaks concentration. Liam’s hand shoots to the small of Theo’s back, keeping him aloft with gentle pressure. “Still doesn’t explain why they do it naked.” He smiles.

“Because they’re seventeen, and they’re idiots?” 

“Being an idiot is fun, sometimes,” he concedes. “Know what isn’t fun?” 

“What?” Liam asks. 

“I’m pretty sure something just bit me in the ass.” 

As soon as Theo says the words, there’s a sharp pinch on Liam’s left thigh. “Ouch! Shit! What the hell is that?!” 

Theo’s arms and legs drop like stones, and they scramble through the water toward a flat, moss-covered rock in the center of the reservoir. “It’s mine,” Liam yells, laughing, shoving Theo away from the rock. 

“I like you, Liam, but not enough to get my dick bitten off.” There’s a tussle, but they both end up with their butts planted on the slimy rock, pressed together from thigh to shoulder. Despite his damp skin, he’s a line of liquid fire against Liam’s side. “I take it back,” Theo growls, rubbing at his left glute. “Being an idiot is idiotic.”

Liam’s eyes burn gold, searching for signs of life under the murky water. “Most likely it was a water snake. Don’t worry; your dick won’t fit in its mouth.” Too late, Liam realizes what he said.

Theo laughs so hard he falls off the rock. “Seems being an idiot is also contagious.” He winks at Liam as he hoists himself out of the water once more.

_He’s a snake too_ , Liam thinks, studying every inch of Theo’s perfect skin. No blemishes, no scars, no reflection of his back-roads past, the unimaginable things he’s seen and done, and had done to him. His supernatural body shed them all. If only shrugging off the shroud of a bleak soul was a werewolf trait.

“Race you back to the shore?” Theo’s teeth are white and deadly inside his generous smile. Venomous. He might bite, but Liam might enjoy it.

Liam stands, instantly missing the heat of Theo’s body pressed against his. “Whoever keeps their dick attached is the winner.” He holds out his hand, helping Theo rise. 

“Three… Two… One!” They jump from the rock, and they’re flying again, but this time they’re flying together.


	6. Like a heartbeat skip, like an open page

Fat, ominous clouds roll across the bleach-white skull of the moon, casting flickering shadows under their feet as they follow the winding path through the woods. “We should turn back or we’re going to get drenched,” Theo warns, eyeing the overcast sky.

“It’s not much further.” Liam throws the promise over his shoulder at Theo’s rightfully skeptical face; he’d said the same thing ten minutes prior. “Trust me, it’ll be worth it.” 

Back near the trail entrance, a faded sign half-toppled by wind-felled trees proclaimed a warning Liam refused to heed: “No Entry After Dark.” The atmosphere had been thick and crackling even then, but Liam wasn’t sure if the tension foreshadowed a storm, or if it was just _them_. These days the air between him and Theo is always heavy, saturated with a sense of waiting, of something inevitable. It dances like static on their passing touches, accelerates the pounding of both their hearts. Deep down, Liam knows what it is; something massive and overwhelming.

Rough wind slaps Liam in the face with the sickly stink of wood rot and summer wildflowers, rakes across his scalp like fingers as it litters the forest floor with leaves and rusty pine needles. Twice now Liam’s tripped over rocks and twisted tree roots peeking out of the growing carpet cover.

Liam pauses again, searching for signs that he heads in the right direction. “It’s around here somewhere. I swear!” Frustration leaks out of every pore, sour and pungent. 

  
_Splat_. A single wet drop splashes the tip of Theo’s nose. He goes cross-eyed when Liam wipes it away.

Theo’s clawed fingers zip out and dig divots into a clump of moss winding around a tree trunk. Fifteen minutes later, they pass the same tree, only now the rain steadily drizzles. “We’re going in circles,” he complains, pointing at his previous handy work. “What are we looking for?” Theo’s stopped asking Liam about the shenanigans he plans, but when it results in being soaked and cold, he demands answers. 

  
“I just… Malia said to head west of the highway.”

“The entire county of Beacon Hills is west of the Highway, Liam. You need to be more specific.”

“That’s the point!” Liam yells over the howling wind. “The entirety of Beacon Hills!” He grabs Theo’s wet hand and tugs him up a steep ravine, into an overgrown section of forest that smells of peat and other green growing things. Sticky spider webs grab at their faces and prickly briars bushes tug at their jeans. On either side of them, tall trees creak and groan, protesting the storm’s harsh treatment.

They reach the clearing right as the downpour hits. 

“Damn it!” Liam pushes plastered ropes of dirty-blonde hair off his forehead, the strands soaked to deep-mahogany. “It’s raining so hard you can’t see anything.” He gestures toward wind-sculpted bluffs, disappointment tightening the line of his jaw.

They stand on a rocky ledge overlooking Beacon Hills, the county laid out before them in miniature, like a model village. From the forest preserve where they’d skinny-dipped to the ritzy West Hills neighborhood with the updated little league field; from the suburbs where they’d held their bedroom prom to the downtown mall where Liam bought Theo a pair of too-tight jeans. To the neighboring industrial district where they’d captured the Yule Cat. The whole county unfurls like a map of their shared memories. 

Theo walks to the perimeter of the clearing, where storm-flattened grass gives way to craggy rocks and loose gravel. Leafy ferns have taken root, despite the rugged terrain, turning the jutting landscape into a death zone. One misstep and he could plummet to the base of the ravine, but Theo leans out, disregarding the danger, squinting down at the landmarks below, wisps of blackened hair glued to his temples falling as gravity takes hold. Without warning, Liam can’t stomach how much the jagged edge resembles the mouth of hell that swallowed Theo whole and spat him back out. The storm, the past reverberating like an echo, isn’t how he’d imagined this adventure going. He’d wanted to show Theo, to point out all the things they’d shared. _Look. See? We can make something good. The future can be bright, even if the past was dark._

“This spot is _Lookout Point_ ,” Liam shouts, desperate to end his disintegrating plan. “Every teenager in Beacon Hills brings their significant other here to make out. Just another idiotic ritual, I guess. It’s a magnificent view, but who the hell gets turned on by the possibility of plunging to their death?” Theo looks back at Liam, moonlit shadows dripping down his face like tears. 

_Muddy and soaked to the bone. And he’s so beautiful_. Liam doesn’t even try to fight the thought when it comes.

Lightning cracks like a Ghost Rider’s whip; they both wince. “We should head back to the car,” Liam tries again, shielding his brow. “The rain ruins the view.”

“Nothing’s ruined.” There’s an intimate pitch to Theo’s voice that raises the fine hairs on the back of Liam’s neck, makes his entire body still instinctually as another arc lights the sky, casting the clearing in an eerie violet-white glow. Theo pivots, moving away from the treacherous ledge, each step bringing him closer to Liam. “I can see perfectly.” The words are lost to the wind and the rain; Liam reads them off Theo’s lips as he stops before him. Liam shudders at the heat of Theo’s body penetrating his damp clothes, counts drops of moisture clinging to his gloss-brown lashes, smells the sweet floral scent his hair emits. Theo never takes his eyes off Liam’s face, not even when he leans in, closing the distance between them.

The kiss is about as gentle as the raging weather. 

Theo captures Liam’s face in his wet hands, blunt fingers digging into the slick skin of Liam’s chin, where rivulets of water funnel down from his nose, his cheeks. He turns his face to the sky, parting his lips, pulling the rumble of thunder into his chest and Theo’s tongue into his mouth as they crash together. Rain flies sideways in the wind, peppering their faces like buckshot. They ignore it, devouring each other. 

Theo pulls back, fanning Liam’s cheeks with heaving, uneven breaths. His eyes are black in the moonlight, surrounded by the thinnest hoop of blue. They travel Liam’s face in a flare of lightning, searching, searching… 

Liam lays his hands over Theo’s hands where they clutch his face, tracing divots of sinew and bones with his thumbs. Theo makes a hungry, plaintive sound, so wild and piercing it vibrates Liam’s bones. “I wanted to show you,” Liam whispers deliriously against Theo’s throat, his temple, his jaw. “I wanted to show you.”

Theo’s lips are a monsoon, drowning him. “I see, Liam,” he swears.

They fall to the muddy grass, a tangle of slick lips and drenched limbs. Theo is over him, cradling Liam’s head in his arm, and for a moment, his face, bright and candescent, overtakes the moon. He holds unearthly power in the breadth of his shoulders; they block out the entire sky. The rain keeps falling, constant as a heartbeat, no end in sight. 

Liam clutches tight to Theo, and rides out the storm. 


	7. Like a one way trip on an aeroplane

Liam’s butt goes numb sitting against the rough concrete of the rear porch steps, but he’s reluctant to leave the pocket of peace he’s discovered in Melissa McCall’s back yard. A cool August breeze plays with a worn string of multicolored Japanese lanterns strewn overhead. Liam remembers Melissa hanging them for Scott’s high school graduation. How she made him hold the ladder steady for her. Next door, a young couple argues, raised voices muffled through slabs of wood and insulation. In an hour, the sun will set, and singing crickets and droning mosquitos will drown out their argument—if it lasts that long.

The slider squeaks opens with a whine—Liam should check under Melissa’s kitchen sink for WD-40—and Theo steps through. Clinking glasses and peels of laughter float out around him, slipping away into the backyard. “I wondered where you’d disappeared to.” He pauses on his way down the steps, sniffing the vivid violet-pink heads on the overgrown Peony bush engulfing the flowerbed. A disgruntled bumblebee buzzes out of the blossoms, bumping Theo’s nose. 

“You disrupted her bedtime snack.” Liam wags his finger. 

Theo sits next to him, sprawling out his limbs and leaning back on one elbow. He points to the bee, now near the fence ringing the McCall’s lawn, hovering over the wild Daisies and Black-Eyed Susan creeping through the slats. “I expect she’ll survive.” He draws a sip from the can of soda he carried outside with him, the dull silver bringing out the pale pink in his plush lips. Liam watches his throat work. Theo winks when he catches Liam checking him out. “Am I embarrassing _you_?”

Liam wrinkles his nose. Growing up he loved Cola, crisp and sweet with bubbles that tickled his tongue, but since his werewolf transformation, the bitter chemical taste makes him gag. Either the Dread Doctor’s didn’t cut and paste enhanced tastebuds into their chimeras DNA, or Theo just loves torturing him. Probably the latter. “No, but I’m going to make you brush your teeth before you kiss me,” Liam threatens.

“Liar.” Theo swoops in, steals a quick peck that tastes like polymer and sorbitol. “You’re missing all the fun inside. Stiles is telling tales from the FBI office in Sacramento, and Scott went into considerable detail about his field experience inseminating cows.”

The sole member of the pack not physically present tonight is Lydia. She’s still at MIT finishing her Master’s, but Derek has her on FaceTime. Even Kira is home, a new sense of balance and maturity worn around her slim shoulders like a superhero’s cloak. Liam worried her return would spell doom for Scott and Malia’s relationship, but it seems Malia welcomed Kira back with open arms. “And open legs,” Theo lewdly joked a few weeks ago. Liam punched him.

He’d fretted about how Theo would react to having her back, too. They hadn’t encountered each other since Kira stabbed her Katana into the ground and banished Theo to his own particular purgatory. So far, Theo’s given her a wide berth, and no one’s been electrocuted.

“I’m taking a breather. It’s fantastic having everyone home, but it’s a little overwhelming, too. I got used to it being just us. Ya know?”

Theo nods. A robust burp follows another gulp of soda. “I get it. Just thought you’d be soaking up as much time as you could. You’re leaving soon.”

Two years prior, when Liam graduated high school, Scott and the original pack members set off for college and careers. Scott left Liam in charge, promising to be back for Beacon Hills. Now he’s home, interning with Deaton. Liam has an Associate’s Degree from community college hanging on his bedroom wall and an acceptance letter to Seattle University tucked into his sock drawer. It’s his turn to go; his decision to come back to the McCall pack or forge his own.

“It’s amazing,” Theo grunts in the expanding silence, “how things change but remain the same.”

The argument ceases next door. Liam glances over, sees the young couple through a bay window, wrapped in each other’s arms. “What do you mean?” He shifts, giving Theo his complete attention.

Theo motions with his half-empty soda can toward a doghouse with a peaked roof in the yard's corner, and a dilapidated treehouse nestled in the limbs of an oak tree beyond the fence. “Roxy died when Scott was eight. I swear we slept in that treehouse every night the summer before fourth grade.” He points out a few Dandelions and clusters of clover poking through the grass. “And when Melissa kicked Rafe McCall to the curb, it became Scott’s responsibility to weed and mow the lawn. He was terrible about remembering.”

“True Alpha,” Liam says, “terrible landscaper.” They share a secret smile in the gathering twilight, studying each under the soft-colored lanterns. This seems like as good a time as any. “Speaking of things changing and staying the same…” Liam shifts to the left, bracing against Theo as he reaches into his pants pocket. He draws out a crumpled bag. “This is for you.” 

The can clinks when Theo straightens from his slouch and sets it on the painted porch rail out of their way. He takes the proffered envelope, eyes excavating Liam’s face, digging for clues. It’s unsealed, so he bends back the flap and peeks inside. After a few moments of meditation, he lowers the flap and balances the envelope on his bent knees, cramming his hands into the front pocket of his dark hoodie. “I can afford my own tickets to come visit you,” he huffs. “And if I can’t swing the cost of a flight, I’ll drive up.”

There’s a thud behind him, but Liam doesn’t need to look to know it’s the couple lowering their window shades. Their words are muffled, but their tone is indisputable; it’s time to kiss and make up. “It takes nine hours to get to Seattle by car,” Liam reminds Theo. 

Theo shrugs. “Worth it.”

Liam can’t help the way his heart swoops at the words. “Visits sound wonderful and all, but I have to be honest with you.” He points to the white envelope. “That’s not what that is. Look closer.”

Theo’s brows furrow, and he opens the envelope again, this time pulling the ticket completely out. He examines it, flips it back and forth, rechecks the envelope, then locks eyes with Liam. “This is…”

“It’s a one-way ticket.”

“Liam.” Theo breathes his name. “This is _your_ time.”

“It is,” he agrees, “and I want to spend it with you.”

Theo stands, stalks across the yard where the setting sun glows orange and crimson behind tall evergreen trees. Liam follows. The air smells of wood smoke and burning leaves and honeysuckle, makes him feel like he’s teetering on the precipice of summer and fall, not sure which season the dawn will bring. “I have to ask,” Theo says when he and Liam are as far from the house as they can get, “is this”—he brandishes the slip of paper crushed in his fist—“just another part of your quest to give me a normal adolescence? To erase what the Doctor’s did to me? Or what _I_ did when I was with them?” His voice cracks like glass. “Because Liam, I love you for trying, I really do, but—”

“No.” Liam rips the ticket from Theo’s death grip. “This, us,”—he motions between them—“has nothing to do with that. _Be your own anchor._ Scott told me those words, over and over, but it was you who taught me _how_.”

He glances back at the McCall house, the low gleam of the rear window framing the pack perfectly in the failing light; Derek and Stiles laughing, Scott with his arms around Malia and Kira, huge dopey smile drawn on his face, Chris Argent pouring Melissa a glass of red wine, Corey and Mason sneaking a kiss when they assume no one is watching. “It drove me crazy,” Liam continues, voice thin, “knowing you had a frame of reference for how to use your powers for good, could apply that power toward helping me, but you had no frame of reference for how a ‘normal’ teenage life would have been. The prom, the pants, the baseball? All of that was because I wanted to give something back to you. I wanted a way to say thank you and prove show that no matter what you did or had done to you—what you missed out on. You deserve good things.

“This ticket,”—Liam slaps it against Theo’s chest, holds his hand against Theo’s thumping heart—“is because _I_ deserve good things, too. You are my good thing.”

_Sometimes good things come from our worst nightmares._

Theo braces Liam’s face between his palms. “I hate breaking this to you, but Liam, you have no frame of reference for ordinary adolescence either. You think being a teen wolf is _normal_?” 

“Hell no.” He snorts. Theo settles his hand overtop Liam’s, where it sits against his chest. “But we’re doing okay, despite all that,” Liam says. “Don’t you think?”

“Yeah, Liam.” Theo leans down for a kiss. He still tastes like chemicals, but Liam doesn’t care. “We’ll be just fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 chapter to go! I'm hoping to have it out early tomorrow!


	8. Epilogue: It’s the way that I feel when I’m with you. Brand New.

Liam wakes to a warm, vibrating weight nestled between his shoulder blades, and the occasional soft, barely there brush of fingertips on his skin. “She’s your cat,” he grumbles into his drool-stained pillow. “Why does she always use me as her personal mattress?” 

“There’s a joke in there somewhere about you being a doormat.” Liam cracks open one eye, sees Theo on his back, absent-mindedly stroking Athena’s calico fur as he stares at the whirling blades of the ceiling fan. He tucks his free hand behind his head, arm bent, showing off his bare chest where the blanket has slipped down his torso. Pre-dawn light seeps into the room through sheer curtains. Theo is an Ansel Adams photo, the landscape of his body cast in dark shadows and soft dream-like shades of gray.

“Whatcha thinking about?” The words rasp from his parched throat, but he lacks the will and the energy to roll over and grab the glass of water off his bed table. 

  
  


“Coffee.” Theo’s voice is still gritty with sleep, deep and resonating. It never fails to give Liam pleasant chills. “And what we should do today.”

  
  


“We should sleep in,” Liam mumbles, part demand and part plea. “I love sleep. It’s Saturday.” He closes his eyes, lulled by Athena’s contended purrs. When he opens them again, some time must have passed. From his warm, comfortable burrito blanket, Liam hears tittering birds greet the morning with song. The risen sun splinters through the window, raining warmth over their bed. Athena has abandoned Liam’s back to sprawl in Theo’s vacated spot, basking in a puddle of sunshine. 

Theo stands in profile at the window, sipping pungent black coffee from Liam’s chipped university mug. A faded pair of plaid boxers cling to his hips, hair sticking up in disarray on top of his head, errant strands curling on his forehead. The curtains gathered and bunched to the side act as pillows for Theo’s body as he leans against the casing. Liam notes their ragged ends, where Athena liberally applies her claws. A trip to _Bed, Bath and Beyond_ is in their near future. 

  
  


The view is stunning—both his boyfriend and the scenery through the glass. To the right of Theo’s face the Space Needle jabs at a crystal-blue sky, and past the tall, dark blot of the Columbia building Mount Rainier floats in the distance. They’d lucked out, finding this condo in East Queen Anne, high enough in the hills for a magnificent view, but not too far from the culture-rich Seattle Center. Theo’s raised the sash, and sounds of the city filter inside: roaring planes in the sky from Sea-Tac international airport, cars rolling down their street in an endless parade, boat horns blowing in Puget Sound.

  
  


“Whatcha thinking about?” Liam can’t help asking again. The sun on Theo’s face feels like an invitation. 

Theo turns at the sound of Liam’s voice, the steaming mug half-way to his mouth. He holds Liam’s eyes, leisurely arching his back and stretching one arm over his head. The display of muscles is obscene. Liam’s heart pitches precariously, like a ship in a hurricane. Theo smiles against the rim of the mug, hearing his effect on Liam. “I was thinking about the way that I feel when I’m with you.” Theo doesn’t elaborate, and Liam doesn’t need him to. 

  
  


Liam unearths a hand from the blanket, reaches out toward Theo overtop Athena’s sleeping form. Abandoning the mug on the windowsill, Theo walks around the foot of the bed, shedding the light as he transitions to Liam’s side. Liam’s still too lazy to roll over, so Theo leans down behind him, nosing the covers out of the way.

  
  


“Wake up, sleepyhead. It’s a new day.” The words get emphasized with some semblance of a kiss, all hot, soft lips and tongue leaving goosebumps in their wake as they travel lazily down the back of Liam’s neck. Once upon a time, Liam wouldn’t dare turn his back on Theo Raeken, let alone allow him unmitigated access to the tender skin of his throat. 

Oh, how things have changed. 

“Come on,” Theo says, slapping his butt through the thick blanket. “Get your lazy ass out of bed.” Well, maybe they haven’t changed _that_ much.

Liam throws the blankets away with a dramatic sigh, and wiggles until he’s facing Theo. He reaches his hand down, waits for Liam to take it. Liam lets himself be pulled into the light and Theo’s arms, from one warm, inviting place into another. 

“It _is_ a new day, isn’t it?” He mumbles against Theo’s smile; his reward is an agreeing hum and a gentle kiss. Today, the sun and Theo’s lips are both swollen with promise. 

_It’s the way that I feel when I’m with you,_ Liam sings inside his head. _Brand new._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all, folks! Thanks for reading <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the Official Thiam Library crew for hosting this event!
> 
> I'm [Jamie!](https://jmeelee.tumblr.com/) Thanks for reading!


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